


in sun and salt

by kakashihatake123



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beach House, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-22 15:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9612950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakashihatake123/pseuds/kakashihatake123
Summary: He was like a brother to Sansa. Or…he should have been.// written forjonxsansafanfiction’s 15 days of valentine’s day celebration | day three: confessions





	

Sansa emerged from the water and gasped for breath, the cool salt washing over her and leaving her eyes burning. But she loved it anyway, thinking that there was not an ailment that could not be cured by a dip in the ocean.

It would only be a few days more until the rest of her family joined her at the house where they spent the majority of their summers since Sansa was a child. The house was old and worn by decades of storms and salt spray and whipping wind but it was no less beautiful, no less loved by them.

She looked forward to it for months during the year, when the winters were harsh and cold and dry, knowing that soon enough they would once more be at Scotland’s coast. When she wore her snow boots she could only feel the warm sand squished between her toes, or when icy water dripped down her back in early February she could remember the spray of rain the afternoons running over her, warm and soft and smelling of salt and sea.

The seaside property was large enough to house many guests, and house it did. Over the years the house had seen Margaery and Loras Tyrell, Gendry Waters, Theon Greyjoy, Jojen and Meera Reed, Jeyne Poole, Samwell Tarly and Gilly. But the most common and most welcome guest was Jon Snow.

For years he had been close enough to the Stark’s to be thought of as one of them, a Stark in bond instead of blood. He had grown up in the house next door to the Stark manse in London, spending so many nights and days and dinners with them that he had become just another one of Ned and Cat’s children.

Sansa’s parents attended Jon’s piano recitals and took photos of him just as they would of their own children, sitting in the seats he had saved for them at his graduation and crying when he had been handed his diploma. He was like a brother to Sansa. Or…he _should_ have been.

She was sure that sisters were not supposed to look at brothers the way she looked at Jon, when she was sure no one was looking. Or that they did not stare at their brothers as they emerged, half-naked and glistening, from the ocean like a curly haired merman with muscles of Roman proportion. Well…if the rumors were true maybe Cersei and Jaime Lannister did but that was a separate can of worms all on its own.

Jon threw back his hair, beads of salty water spraying his back as he wiped his hair from his brow, padding across the hot sand until he reached the small shelter they had built early in the day to protect themselves from the sweltering sun.

He grinned at her. “The water feels so great.” Said he, sinking into his patio chair. “As much as I love the cold it’s such a relief to feel the heat once in a while.”

“Definitely.” She agreed, fishing around in the cooler between their chairs. “Want a beer?” she asked, greeted by a small hiss as she use the buckle of Jon’s abandoned belt to open the tab.

“Gods yes.” He said, slipping on his sunglasses and leaning blissfully back in his chair. “Nothing better than sun and sand and a lager to go along with it.”

“Shite, Jon.” said she, her hands had reached through the ice to come up empty. “I think this is the last one. But we can share it for now and hit the market later.”

“Oh.” He said, clearly disappointed. He watched as her throat bobbed as she swallowed, thin and lithe and beautiful. Silently he cursed himself for being so completely in love that he thought how even her throat was beautiful. “Yeah sure. No big deal.”

She passed him the bottle, the beer icy against his palm, and he dug his toes deeper into the sand. The shelter they had built flapped in the wind; the tent held up by the thin iron bars they had used the previous summer when they had gone camping.

The beach was empty on this side of the coast, the tourists flocking to the other side of the island where the girls went topless and the boats blasted music loud enough to wake the fish all the way at the bottom of the ocean. But Sansa loved it here. It was quiet and peaceful here. They played games and cooked s’mores and raced each other down the beach.

She had arrived a few days earlier than the rest of her family, having finished her exams sooner than she had expected, and after she had phoned Jon to let him know he had offered her a ride. Sansa had swallowed hard, hoping not to sound too enthusiastic when she spoke. “Sure.” She said, attempting nonchalance. “That would be great. Do you need anything?”

“Just sunscreen. Don’t want a repeat of last year.” He said, his voice on the other end of the phone hitching into a laugh.

Sansa laughed, holding the phone between shoulder and cheek. “Oh shut it.” she said, snapping teasingly. “I got so burned I couldn’t even wear a bra for a week.”

As soon as Sansa had spoken she had regretted her words, feeling the awkwardness stretch between them almost palpably. Her side of the phone was filled with regret and discomfort, the other side with longing so deep that it nearly caused salivation at the thought of Sansa, pink, braless, lathered in lotion.

“I’ll pick you up at three, is that alright?” said Jon, hoping his voice did not come off as breathless as he felt.

Despite the fact that he had just finished his shift at the coffee house and was still sitting on the curb in the front of the shoppe it suddenly seemed as private as if he was in his own bedroom and the conversation as charged as though he had once more called one of the phone sex lines Theon had once dared him to.

He could hear the dull sounds of the telly in the background and his mind once more wandered, imagining what it would be like to curl beside her on the sofa and watch a marathon of _Twin Peaks_.

A long pause. “Three works for me.” Sansa replied. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing.” He lied, “Got to go now San. I’m still at work.”

“Oh yeah.” She said, feeling stupid for having interrupted him. “Have fun. Bye. See you at three.”

From the time it took to pack her belongings and finish cleaning up her flat three came all too quick. Jon arrived precisely at quarter three and politely helped her with her bags, even producing a bag of exotic coffee beans that Sansa could never find online.

“This is amazing!” she said, hugging him tightly. “I haven’t had this in years. Where did you even find it”

Jon dug his hands into his pockets. “Oh it was just in the shoppe. I do the ordering so…nothing too difficult.”

“Well it means a lot to me.” she said, tucking it into her suitcase. “I’ll make you some when we get to the house.”

“That would be great.” He said, offering her a sleek black helmet before donning his own and kick starting the motorbike. “You ready?”

Sansa nodded, swinging her leg over the seat and settling behind. At first there had been a spot of space between them, keeping Sansa from being pressed to Jon’s back like a dried flower to a page, but the moment the motorbike began to move she was curled against him. It had been years since she had been on the back of a bike and at first it was a strange, exhilarating feeling, though she was embarrassed to admit that she had yelped in surprise and clutched her arms tighter to Jon.

It was a torturous ride, not because of the length of the trip but because of the texture of Jon’s shirt, of the way her arms clasped so tight around his middle, of the way he smelled and the way his dark curls tickled her face as they rode.

It was intolerable to be so close to him.

She had wondered if Jon could feel her hesitation, the way her hands curled around his middle as though holding him for balance instead of affection. The way her legs would around to the front of the bike, pressed just behind his so that he could feel the warmth of her bare legs.

When Jon had peered at her over his shoulder he could see how her blue eyes sparkled through the slit in her helmet, almost as though she was feeling the same as he. But it was not possible. She had only been holding him so tightly to keep from toppling off the back of the motorbike and her smile had been one of politeness instead of… _flirtation_. Even thinking the word had made his eyes avert quickly from hers.

The pair had reached the house at dusk, the sun leaving streaks of yellow and pink across the clouded sky. “Whoa.” Sansa had said as Jon helped her off of the back of the bike. Her legs had wobbled, her body having gone suddenly weak from the steady vibrations of the motorbike. “Sorry.” She had apologized quickly for sinking halfway into him, using his offered arm to stabalise herself.

“It’s fine.” Jon had said, tucking their helmets back into the compartment beneath the seat.

Wordlessly he had taken her heaviest bag and carried it into the house, the jingle of the keys familiar as Sansa unlocked the swinging porch door. “Thanks.” Sansa said.

His politeness had made her flush, so different from the brusqueness of the boys she had previously dated. The word made her jolt. She cursed herself for having thought such a thing. He was practically her _brother_. Not her boyfriend.

Sansa’s throat bobbed as she took another pull from the bottle, a drop of beer rolling down her chin. Jon’s cheek twitched, desperate to lick the drop clean. “I’m gonna go for a swim.” Said he, standing up so quickly that the book he had been reading flew down into the sand.

Without waiting for a response he headed down the beach, diving through the soft, salty foam of the waves and into the water. A line of clouds had darkened the afternoon around them with the threat of rain, the wind on her face cool as she leaned forward, watching as Jon’s head bobbed beneath the clouds.

Her feet sank into the sand as she walked toward the waves, her legs desiring to be stretched after so long in her patio chair. The bathing suit she wore was cut low, the wet ends of her hair tickling the bare skin of her back as the wind blew again, making her glad that they had thought ahead and pinned down their tent.

Jon watched as she came forward, the coldness of the water doing little to sate his burning desire. Every inch of her was desirable, from the toes of her long, thin legs to the ends of her crimson hair, now growing darker as it was wet, floating around her body like an ominous cloud. Her bathing suit had gone thin with the weight of the water and Jon was glad she dove headfirst into the water lest his eyes hesitate for a moment longer on the just visible peaks of her hardened nipples.

They swam together for nearly an hour before the rain broke through the clouds and came down upon them, doing little as they were already soaked through with water.

“It feels so nice.” She said, smiling up at the dark sky.

“I know.” He agreed, using his legs to propel him as he swam backwards. “Anything to get a break from the sun.” Sansa jumped up suddenly, yelping. “What is it?” Jon asked, running a hand over his face to clear the water from his eyes. She had jumped sideways, her legs drifting above the sea shelf.

“Something touched me!” she said.

“Well…” he began, painfully aware of their closeness now. “We are in the ocean.”

“Something _sharp_ , git.” She teased. “A piece of coral I think. It really hurts.”

He furrowed his brows. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” she said, shielding the rain from her eyes with her free hand. “I think I’m just gonna head back to the house.”

She made to take a step and gritted her teeth, gasping slightly. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked. When she hesitated he gave a playful roll of his eyes and wrapped his arms around her shoulder, scooping her into his arms easily.

She was nearly weightless in the water, blushing prettily. Her eyes were on his face, dropping from his eyes to flick hesitantly to his mouth and as though under a control that was not his own Jon found himself leaning forward until his lips were on hers. Her mouth tasted like salt, soft and pink beneath his lips, her tongue brushing his own lightly as her arms tightened around her.

When she pulled away her blush had deepened to a bloody crimson, spreading wide across her face and creeping down her neck and to her chest. “It really doesn’t hurt that bad.” She breathed.

“It’s bleeding.” He said, following her gaze to her injured foot. “So no more complaints, unless you want to sit here and chat for a bit before we get eaten by a shark.”

“Nope.” She said quickly, shutting her mouth as he carried her back to the shore.

They gathered their belongings quickly, Jon muttering a quick thank you when he realised Sansa had tucked his book into a waterproof bag before she joined him in the water, saving it from growing as sodden as their towels had. They did not speak as they made the short walk back up to the house, Sansa hobbling slightly, careful not to press her injured foot into the sand.

“Thanks.” She said when he handed her the shorts she had accidently left behind. She headed to the shower without another word, Jon hearing the creak and groan of the pipes above his head as he wandered into the kitchen in search of food.

Their bedrooms were beside each other in the long hall, matching mahogany doors leading into a set of neightbouring rooms, bundled together with an adjoining door beside Sansa’s dusty bookcase. The rooms had once belonged to Benjen and Brandon but it had been years since the elder Stark’s had joined their vacations, leaving the rooms to be occupied by Sansa and Jon.

Sansa cursed their rooms for being so close together, the chipped mahogany door that led into her room just beside his in the long, dark corridor. The wooden floors creaked as she walked, no matter how quiet she attempted to be, her slippered feet shuffling across the floor.

She could hear the half-muffled sound of music coming from his room. Thumping against the thin walls loudly she hoped that he could not hear her footsteps as she hesitated before his door, her hand hovering above the blackened knob.

“Are you gonna come in or are you just going to stand there all night?” he called. A flush jolted through her as the door was pulled open from within, Jon giving her an odd look before returning to his bed and pulling his computer back into his lap.

Sansa licked her lips, frowning. “Sorry.” she muttered. He leaned against the carved headboard, his foot tapping against the comforter in unison with the rhythm of the music. “I was just wondering if…” she began. “I haven’t had dinner yet so…are you…do you want to-”

Jon looked up from his computer. “Spit it out, San.” His brow flickered. “Is that my shirt?”

She looked down. “I…I forgot to pack mine. I thought it would be okay if I borrowed it.”

“It is.” He said quickly. He avoided the way the shirt fell only to her thighs, the legs that extended downward long and lithe and glistening with the salt of ocean water. “I didn’t mean it wasn’t okay I just…was surprised. That’s all.” He continued, attempting nonchalance. “What were you…er…saying?”

Sansa turned her back to the bed so he could not see her flushed face, hoping that whatever blush he may have spotted he thought was due to sunburn. But the way his eyes had been on her…They were ravenous as they flicked down to her legs, leaving a streak of warmth in their wake as hot as her blush.

“It’s nothing.” said Sansa, hands balled into fists at her sides. “Forget it.”

In a flash Jon crossed the room, his hand on the calcified knob of the door so she could not turn it. Sansa could feel his breath on the back of her neck, hot and close and scented of beer, ghosting across the auburn hairs that had barely begun to dry.

His other hand had lowered to draw her close, snaking around her waist in agonizing slowness, as though giving her time to pull away from him. His palm was flat on her lower belly, so close to the curve of her hip that her blush only deepened, afraid that he could feel the gathering wetness at the base of her thighs.

Her throat worked, breath ragged and shallow, almost panting as he touched her. The warmth of his hand seeped through her borrowed shirt, making her suddenly aware of the fact that she wore nothing beneath but a thin, damp bathing suit. His fingers were callused and rough, worker’s hands; hands she wanted to feel run over every inch of her.

Hot whips of panic lashed at him. He was acutely aware of how they were standing, how she was sure to feel the straining hardness of him against her hip. His fingers drifted to the curve of her thigh, the sharp intake of breath she took making him freeze. “N-no it’s g-good.” she said quickly, barely able to form the words.

Where he had once been occupied with thoughts of awkwardness and hesitancy Jon was now consumed only by her. She smelled clean and fresh, the heady scent of the water she had swam in leaving her skin smelling of both land and sea, crystallised with salt and brine. The water had darkened her crimson hair until it was a shade not unlike that of the peeling copper door whose knob his hand still rested upon.

Jon’s lips were on the nape of her neck, brushing her damp hair over her shoulder so his mouth could occupy its space. She shivered beneath his touch, the whimper she choked out leaving his throbbing erection iron hard and growing painful.

In a motion as smooth as a dance he turned her, bracing her back flat against the door and claiming her mouth for his own, whatever thoughts that might once have consumed him washed away in a tide of rapturous pleasure. Her hips pushed against his maddeningly, their kiss long and messy and all too overdue.

His hand was on her knee, a slow climb to her thigh, legs parting to allow he continue his perilous trek. Somewhere along the way she had lost her slippers, the leg she had wrapped around his hip allowing her bare toes to curl against his leg.

Her hands clawed at his waist, pulling him against her, the dampness of her bathing suit leaving a wet imprint against him. Her hands had slipped beneath his shirt, cold against his back, her nails digging into him and making him moan long and low and animalistic. In a fury his mouth pressed a train of warm kisses across her shoulder, nosing at the alcove between neck and shoulder.

She could feel a touch of ghostly lightness along the base of her thigh where she had become desperately wet. Stroking her lightly Sansa found that the roughness of Jon’s callused fingers created a deliciously tormenting friction. She moaned, the way Jon’s fingers curled against her making a warmth so great spread through her body that it was almost as though the sun was beating down upon her.

His free hand looped through the sleeve of her bathing suit and pulled it free of her shoulder, leaving space for his tongue to run across the thin line of her clavicle. His hand continued its task, his fingers pressing firm against her as they sped up. He could feel Sansa melt against him, held upright only by his arms around her.

He had wanted this for far longer than he ever cold have imagined, having pushed down the feelings so deeply and so firmly that even he had forgotten them. And now to feel her writhe against him, weakness in her legs and pleasure on her face, her head lolling forward to rest against his shoulder. It was moments before her orgasm came, striking them both like a blow to the head. She tightened around him like a drawstring, legs, arms, even her teeth bit down upon his shoulder, light but still sharp enough that he was sure it would leave a mark come morning.

She slumped against him, the pair frozen in the remanence of what they had just done and when they pulled apart they could only stare at each other. “Is…” he began, hesitant, almost afraid to hear the answer she would give. “Is this what you wanted?”

Her eyes were bright blue and clear as the ocean outside his window. A look of hurt crossed over her face, the arms she had wrapped around his neck loosening before slipping away. “Did you…you didn’t want to?”

“I did!” said he quickly, wanting to scream that it had been all he had thought about since he had reached the house. “I…I _really_ did. But you…didn’t you?”

Sansa nodded, a smile flickering at the corner of her mouth. “I wanted to.” Her hand slipping between his, their fingers entwined like vines. “I’ve wanted to for…a long time.” She chuckled. “As bad as that sounds.”

“It doesn’t sound bad.” he admitted.

“I can’t believe we…” she breathed. “I think that…” she licked her lips. “I think we should get some dinner and maybe go for a swim.”

“A swim.” He repeated, breathless. “A swim sounds good.”

His eyes lowered to her mouth, his tongue running out across his bottom lip, remembering the way she had tasted, remembering the softness of her lips, and the way she had buckled against him like all the strength in her body had been sapped away by his kisses. Jon nodded again. “A swim sounds really good. Maybe in some cold water.”


End file.
